


The Inevitable Spring

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil (MCU Avengers Universe) [29]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Children, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Henry James references, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Nick Fury - Freeform, Terrorists, The beast in the jungle, Trauma, Waiting, but no children are hurt, can't say the same for Clint, children are in peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: After learning that Phil's father had been Nick Fury, they don't have to wait long to find out who currently holds the title. In the middle of an attack by a coalescing enemy, Clint learns that being a parent is possibly the hardest thing and the best thing he's ever done.Warning:  This story includes children in peril including kidnapping.  I rated this Mature because of the implied and off-screen violence.  This new enemy isn't a comic book type villain; real-life dangers are creeping into this series and in this installment, they play their first card.





	The Inevitable Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Back in "At the Crossroads," Clint was warned that bad times were coming and this story is the beginning of a dark plot line that mirrors some of the problems in our world today. It follows directly on the heels of "What Dreams May Come," literally within two weeks. You might want to go back and read that one first if you haven't. Aw, what the hell ... each installment is a one-shot, so you might want to read the whole thing. A number of stories are mentioned in this one, including "Bella's Dads," and "It's a Dog's Life." 
> 
> Clint is partially deaf in this series (see "At the Crossroads"). I use asterisks inside dialogue to denote what he doesn't hear ("I ***'* hear" = "I can't hear"). For signed conversation, I use asterisks in place of quotation marks (*Idiot*). 
> 
> Be warned that children are put in peril causing their parents to launch a rescue. Most of the violence happens off-screen and is referred to by other characters. There are some deaths that are discussed, all minor original characters. 
> 
> Yes, for the eagle-eyed readers, the title, the epigram, and another reference come from Henry James' short stories. I'm feeling very literary lately and this story became a mixture of my desire to write adult relationships bombarded by external plot and characters that evolve and change as they grow/mature. Somehow, Marcher's endless waiting became the metaphor for this one-shot. If you've never read "A Beast in the Jungle" or "The Turn of the Screw," I highly recommend them. Dense, lush, hopeless and frustrating, you might understand why Clint chooses a different path.

_“It was the truth, vivid and monstrous, that all the while he had waited, the wait was itself his portion.”_

_Henry James, The Beast In the Jungle_

  
  


Clint Barton learned early how to wait, to still his body and let time slip past. As a child, hidden away in the tiny space between the ancient boiler and the basement wall, ears open for approaching footsteps.  As a teenager, arrow notched, string taut, the rumble of the audience’s voices, focused on the center of the target. As a young man, tucked in an alcove, barely breathing, seven assassins on his trail, an Interpol team bearing down, hours slipping by until it was safe to move.  Hell, Clint spent years patiently pining after Phil, never letting anyone see how he felt, and now that they were married with kids, he could outlast any childish tantrum, fit, or storm of tears until Bella or Josh wore themselves down and fell asleep in his arms.

 

But waiting for the big reveal was a whole different matter.  From the moment they’d watched the video where Phil’s now deceased father dropped the bomb about being the real Nick Fury and how the current one would be contacting them soon, every moment was fraught with tension and expectation.  Steve come to pick up the kids for Met Saturday? Maybe it was Captain America all the time. Running across Thaddeus Ross at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters? Please, God, don’t let it be him. Janet Van Dyne went shopping and bought Phil a Cap shirt?  Could be her. Maria Hill calls a meeting? She’d make perfect sense. And yet, no one said a word, not a single nod or wink or flick of the fingers to suggest they were anything more than they seemed.

 

“Hey, Mr. Barton!”  Billy Kaplan, one of the teenage aides, flagged Clint down on the front  steps of the NYC School for the Gifted. Glancing at his watch, Clint slowed for the gangly teenager, all limbs and bones and dark hair, to catch up. “I’ve been trying to ask you all week about Josh and the science fair.  Usually they don’t let third graders enter, but Miss Jemson wants to know if it’s okay with you? I mean, he’d be competing with the middle grades of other magnet schools, but she thinks he can hold his own.”

 

“I’m not sure.”  He couldn’t remember the policy on ability usage in competitions off the top of his head. “Is the school okay with it?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Billy said.  “It’s limited to gifted students, so it’s okay.  Those guys at Midtown Science always win ‘cause they’re geniuses, you know?  Josh probably won’t win, so if that’s a problem …”

 

“It’s fine with me; get me the paperwork and I’ll sign this afternoon.”  Clint grinned. “It’ll be good for him.”   


“Great! I’ll catch you then.”

 

Tapping on his phone as he walked the three blocks back to the house, Clint set a reminder then shot off a text to Phil.  They’d have to get the date on the calendar as soon as possible; Halloween was just a month away and then it was Thanksgiving then Christmas and the U.N. Commission on Superheroes was meeting in January.  Life was busier now that Clint was semi-retired than when he was a full-time Avenger. Not that he was complaining; he loved being Papa and husband and mentor, just sometimes he longed for quiet Sunday afternoons with nothing to do but Phil.

 

“Hey, Hawkguy,”  Kate greeted him as she stepped away from the wall she’d been leaning on.  “Looking pretty dapper for an old guy.”

 

Clint glanced down at his black jeans and maroon button up; he’d thrown on his brown leather jacket before heading out and, yeah, he did look good.  Maybe Phil’s neatness and insistence he hang everything up was finally taking hold. Plus, he’d let Jan take him shopping and bought some new stuff; she might be right about the “comfortable doesn’t have to be ratty” thing.

 

“What can I say?  I’m fine.” He unlocked the door and ushered his prodigy inside. “At least, my kids think so.”

 

“Yeah, they’re still little. Give them time.”  Kate shifted her bow case into her other hand and grabbed an apple from the basket as they passed the kitchen counter. “You’re going to be one of those dorky parents that high school kids are too embarrassed to acknowledge.”

 

“Ah, but their friends will think I’m the best. That’s so much worse than just being out-of-touch.”  

 

A long morning of shooting morphed into an afternoon of training at the Tower, working out new attack patterns and team movements. Tony tested the latest upgrade of the comm system and personal a/v as they ran through scenarios, sending the most recent photos of Martin -- taken by the amazing Sarah Dunn -- over their feeds. Clint opted for soup and salad when they ordered from Mile End Deli; he wasn’t young enough anymore to eat his weight in rare roast beef despite his stomach’s insistence it could handle it. No, he left the pound and a half monsters to faster metabolisms and joined Nat, Hank, Jan, and Tony at the big table, eating like an adult.

 

Twice during the day, Phil texted, funny updates about the ongoing negotiations with the World Security Council. The WSC wanted to define magic as an ability, lumping the likes of Dr. Strange with Wolverine in the ever evolving database of powers; Phil was fighting the good fight to keep things as complicated as possible, making it as harder on the WSC.  Mutants, magic, accidental, intentional … the longer the list, the more difficult to control them all.

 

Just as Clint was exiting the locker room, showered and in fresh clothes, his phone blared the emergency signal. Two heartbeats later, the Tower alarm went off.

 

“What the …” Kate skidded around the corner.  “That’s not an Avengers code!”

 

He didn’t answer, heart freezing as he looked at the single line of text.

 

  1. SCHOOL LOCKDOWN INITIATED AT 2:03 P.M. NO ACCESS OR EGRESS. 9872



 

“The kids,” was all he said as he took off at a dead run towards the control room. Kate followed hard on his heels.

 

“Clint!” Tony almost ran him down, barrelling out of an open door way. “The daycare’s been hit. Martin’s …”

 

“So’s the school.”  Clint’s hands were shaking as he slammed his palm on the keypad.  “We need details …”

 

“I’m compiling data now.”  Even Jarvis’s voice fritzed as he began to rattle off information.  “Surveillance cameras are down at both locations; I’m pulling the feed just before the disruption.”  A window opened with a panel of images; hallways, doors, gates, streets … traffic flowed, children wandered in and out of rooms, nothing unusual. “Daycare protocol was initiated here …” four screens froze, “and the school lock down began here…” the rest stopped.  

 

“Third one from the bottom, left; second from the top, right.”  Tony immediately flicked the images out and enlarged them. A view of the street outside the school, a white van pulled up to the curb, door opening, black clad legs emerging.  A daycare cam that caught the edge of a black clad arm in the open elevator foyer.

 

Clint’s phone beeped; he answered, putting Phil straight to speaker. “Hey, I’m with Tony in the Tower.  Looks like someone tried to get inside. We’re trying to put the pieces together …”

 

“Clint. They just sent a message. Check your voicemail.” The tiny tremor in Phil’s voice shook Clint to his core. “It’s a statement of intent. They have them, the kids.”

 

“No, Phil, it’s a fake; they just sent the lock down signal …” Clint stopped talking as Tony played his message.

 

“Parents of mutated abominations.  You have brought this plague onto the world by your selfish desires and your own abuse of the natural order. Your children are a danger to the future o and must be dealt with to ensure the healthy growth of humanity. Too long have the Avengers and the X-men been allowed to encourage perversity and deviance. No more. We, the Human Liberation Front, are committed to erasing the genetic anomalies and returning balance.  This is our first act … and it will not be our last.”

 

“Jarvis!”  Tony ran from the room, already on his way to the elevator.  “Freeze all access; no one goes in or out …”

 

“It can’t be true.”  Kate turned wide eyes towards Clint.  “How could they get to them? Tony wrote the security program himself …”

 

“On route to school.” Clint grabbed his phone.  “Kate, tell the others, put everyone on alert, find out who got the message …”  

 

“Sir, Professor Xavier is trying to contact Mr. Stark, shall I …”  Jarvis interrupted.   


“Patch him into our call,” Phil said. “And route it through Clint’s earpieces. S.H.I.E.L.D. frequence 784328, secure line.”

 

“Phil?” Xavier’s words came across crisp and clean. “We’ve got a situation …”

 

Clint headed straight for his tac suit, changing as he listened to the exchange and planned his strategy.  Traffic would be shit at this time of day; he needed a faster way to get there. The lockdown meant the building was inaccessible, but he had three contingencies in place.  But first, he needed help.

 

“... three dead but Logan left one alive.  I’m going to question him shortly …”

 

Next stop was the armory; possible close quarters had him tucking knives into sheaths and adding both pistols on his belt as well as a compact rifle along with his quiver.

 

“What’s going on?” Steve stood in the doorway, Sam a step behind.  “Tony tripped the alert and Kate’s saying something about the daycare?”

 

“Message playback, Jarvis.”  Clint kept stowing weapons as the voice repeated the statement. As soon as it was finished, he turned. “Sam, I need a lift;  shorter ETA as the falcon flies. Where’s Parker and Hank?”

 

“Suited up and ready to go.”  Peter had his face mask raised.  “What do they mean by dealt with? They wouldn’t hurt kids, right?”

 

“We won’t let them,”  Steve, jaw set and eyes hard, replied. “Sam, round up Pym and get to the school; Carol and I will back up Tony.  I want everyone called in and put on standby. If they hit here …”

 

“They tried at Charles’ place, but didn’t get inside.”  Clint strode past the others and headed for the roof. “Check London, São Paulo, St. Petersburg and someone get through to T’Challa; there’s an enclave in Nairobi.”

 

If he kept moving, focused on the job at hand, he could tamp down the bone chilling fear, push it aside in favor of action. His brain could latch onto the mechanics of walking instead of circling the worst case scenarios.  Like a lifeline, he held onto Phil’s steady cadence as he ordered and organized and issued edicts.

 

“... Cerebro to find them?” Phil was asking.  “Get us a location?”

 

“I’m on my way now.  I’ve tried contacting Rosa or Billy or Teddy, but nothing so far.  If they’re unconscious, I won’t be able to raise them at this distance …”

 

The cool air of the helipad cleared Clint’s head further. For two seconds, he let himself take a breath then he dove back into the stream of conversation over the comms.

 

“Stark? You inside yet?” He asked as Sam emerged from the stairway, buckling his wing pack.

 

“Door’s inoperable. Going in a window.”  Anger bled through the connection; below, Clint heard the whine of repulsors. “They crashed the whole system without Jarvis noticing.”

 

“In route; ETA seventeen … no thirteen minutes,” Phil said. “Fast response teams dispatched and on the way in London, St. Petersburg, and L.A. Incursions reported in seven locations so far.”

 

“Hey.” Kate stepped up on his right. “They’re going to be okay.”  

 

“We don’t know that.” Clint didn’t have to look to know Natasha was on his left. “But I do know we’re going to find them.”

 

“We’ll follow in the jet,” Nat said. “Meet you there.”

 

Sam cut across town, weaving in and out of buildings and through construction scaffolding.  Even though only sixteen minutes had elapsed since the message was sent, there were already parents gathered around the front gate and cars blocking the street. Clint nodded to the roof of a nearby brownstone as a landing spot; his feet hit the decking, Peter swung down, and Hank enlarged himself.

 

“Okay, there’s a wire conduit on the side of the building just to the left of the third-floor bay window. Spidey, see that security box just below the roof line? I need you to web it with that new flame retardent stuff you’ve been working on.  Keep it cool so it won’t register body temperature. Hank, you’re going in the crack where the line connects; that bay window is the default entrance. I’ll talk you through deactivating it.”

 

“Wow, okay, that’s a pretty detailed plan,” Peter said.

 

“His kids are in there; of course he knows how to get in,” Hank replied.  

 

“London team reporting seven kidnapped, three adults killed. They’re unable to enter, but a teacher is posting messages in a window.”  Phil kept the information coming. “Stark has entered the daycare and is reprogramming the access codes.”

 

“Someone changed a whole section of code,” Tony all but growled.  “Jarvis! It’s mutating! Find the virus and shut it down!”

 

Parker hit the box with sticky white polymer; Hank shrank and flitted across the space on a winged ant.

 

“St. Petersburg team is inside; eight taken and two adults dead. Coming in for a landing in three minutes.”  

 

“Okay, I’m in!’ Hank informed him.  “What’s next?”

 

“If you’re looking at the window, on the left is a print from _Goodnight Moon._  Behind it is a handprint scanner and a keypad.  The code is 44832491.”

 

“Um, yeah, you and your hands are out there.” Hank looked at him through the window and shrugged.

 

“Programmed yours in already. Just do it.”

 

He notched a grappling arrow.

 

“Jean’s gonna take a swipe at this guy.” Logan’s gravely tones broadcast loudly. “See if she can get any info before he wakes.”

 

One. Two. Three.

 

“Doing a headcount,” Steve announced.

 

Four. Five. Six.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Tony, angry, shaking, volume rising. “I’m going to kill them. Each and every fucking one of them. Oh, God, I ‘ve got to tell Pep.”

 

Seven. Eight. Nine.

 

“Green light. I’ve got a green light.” Pym waved. “Do you want me to …”  The arrow embedded in the communications array and Clint used it as a fulcrum to launch off the roof and slam feet first into one bulletproof window just as Hank opened the other.  “Okay, then.”

 

“We’ve got issues outside,” Natasha said, shouting voices around her. “Cordon off the area; first news team just arrived.”

 

Clint stalked into the hallway, pistol in one hand, knife in the other.  

 

“On the ground.  Team A, handle the exterior and crowd control. Team B, prepare to go in as soon as Hawkeye gives the all clear.”  Phil paused for a heartbeat. “Ten missing in San Paolo. Three more from Mexico City. It’s worldwide.”

 

“Team B’s a go; come in through the west entrance,” Clint said.

 

In the second room, Clint found the first huddled group of students hiding under desks, doorway guarded by their teacher.  

 

“Oh thank God.”  She sighed, shoulders slumping. “We heard shots and have been sheltering in place ever since.”    


“We’ve got friendlies in 307; Peter, check the stairway. Hank, send ‘em out the back when it’s clear.  Moving on,” Clint reported, leaving the others to deal with the extraction details.

 

“I’m unable to locate the children,” Xavier said. “I get echoes around the school, but nothing anywhere else.”

 

Down the stairs and into the staff room, Clint found his first body. Principal Rosa Garcia lay face up, arm outstretched, phone still clutched in her hand; he stopped long enough to grab a sweater from the back of the secretary’s chair and spread it over the top half of her body, hiding the bullet hole between her eyes.  

 

“They had an air gun, the kind nurses use to give immunizations,” Steve broke in. “Witnesses say they had a list of who to take and who to neutralize.  The rest they held at gunpoint until they were done.”

 

The offices were clear, so Clint kept going.  Another room, more traumatized kids and teachers.

 

“Some sort of inhibitor.”  Phil sounded further away, a rush of wind across his microphone. “Only way to handle people with abilities.”

 

“Knock them out then shield them with metal, so I can’t get a bead on them,” Charles added.

 

Through the last door on the floor and Clint found another executed adult, this time the librarian, half hidden behind her desk.  Something nagged at him, a half-formed thought.

 

“Phil, who has the authority to lift the lockdown?  Principal Garcia and …” Clint asked.

 

“Maribella Ocho, Anna Jemson, or Sergei Molonov, but Maribella’s on maternity leave.  What’s your status?”

 

“About to enter 101, front-to-back sweep complete on floors two and three.”  He paused, glancing in through the window of Anna Jemson’s third grade classroom to see her flat on the floor, eyes staring sightlessly. “They killed the ones with the codes, Phil.  To make it harder for us to access the school.”

 

“Or to keep everyone in,” Steve suggested. “If they’re locked inside …”

 

“Clear the building!” Phil’s order rang down the hallway as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents followed. “Get everyone out and to a safe distance. Repeat.  All teams, all locations. Clear the buildings!”

 

Clint scanned the gaggle of kids for familiar dark curls, but Josh wasn’t there. A quick count of his son’s classmates showed two others unaccounted for. “Alright everyone!  We’re leaving.”

 

“Miss Jemson …” A red-headed little boy cried ,… Augustus, that was his name … fat tears rolling down his cheek.  

 

“It’s okay, Auggie. Your parents are coming to get you,” Clint told him as two agents began ushering them out.

 

“They’ve got some kind of mental wall or something.” Logan cursed.  “Jean says they had to have a telepath’s help … here, let me have a crack at him.”  The distinct sound of metal claws popping out echoed through the connection. “He’ll talk for me.”

 

He swept each room, keeping an ear out for the ongoing accounting of personnel and students.  Two minutes, then three, then he was out the back, jogging across the basketball court towards the back wall.

 

“All accounted for.”  Phil put a hand on Clint’s shoulder as agents pressed forward into the growing crowd, creating a barrier of clear space. “Twelve taken including two of the teacher’s aides.”    


A young Latina teacher raised her voice above the hubbub of the others.  “Emergency fall back location is the church on the corner. Everyone gather your students and head there.  Parents too. We’ll do the checklist then let you take your children home.”

 

As the kids streamed along behind their teachers, a scream bubbled inside Clint’s chest, anger and frustration looking for a way out. He took three long breaths, waiting until the last of the kids were out of sight, then covered Phil’s hand with his own and squeezed.

 

“We’ll need a war room for all the parents ..” Phil was cut off by a rumble from the building. They all turned just as a bright light flashed, and the walls imploded into a glowing circle that spread then quickly collapsed. People screamed and ducked instinctively, covering their heads and hiding faces, but no shrapnel rained down, everything sucked into the blackness that grew smaller then popped out of existence.

 

“What the …” Peter stared at the now empty space.

 

“Quantum implosion bomb.”  Hank choked out the words. “I thought those were just theoretical.”

 

“Xavier? Logan? Are you  …” Phil glanced at Clint. “Steve?”

 

“We’re good here.” Steve, strong and sure. “Tony found the device and disarmed it.”

 

“Fuckers thought they’d use my energy design to make a bomb?” Tony, angry and sharp. “When I find them, I’m going to rain fucking holy hell on them …”

 

“Nothing here,” Logan, gruff and short. “No bomb, nada. Must not have had time to plant it; we’re good.”

 

“Not entirely true. Our prisoner is dead.” Charles, subdued and serious. “Some sort of mental trigger; when Jean attempted to scan his memories of the last week, he had a seizure.”

 

“Leave no trail.”  Clint glanced around the crowd. “The other locations?”

 

“It’s bad,”  Phil spoke quietly.

 

“Then we do what we have to.”  When Phil nodded in agreement, Clint set himself in motion, pushing his emotions further down. “Get everyone back to the Tower and suited up. We’re taking control.”

* * *

 

“Put all the data we have to the main screen. Run the video feeds concurrently on the back wall, J, and filter the incoming voice feeds.”  

 

Tony paced around the conference table, ignoring the others in the room. He’d said not a single word about Martin, not since he’d hit the door and began issuing orders to the phalanx of S.I. employees skittering off to various places around the Tower.  No one had yet dared to intervene, not with Pepper in the air, on her way back from the West Coast, Happy at her side, keeping her in the loop; Tony refused to put her on facetime, keeping her voice in his own ear.

 

“Jarvis is chasing down the signal,” Steve was saying to Sue Storm. She was fairly vibrating with concern over her son, Franklin.  “We’ll have a location soon, and then …”

 

“We can’t wait that long. They’re four steps ahead of us; by destroying the buildings they meant to leave us no clues or witnesses.” Tony didn’t turn around, hands flying as he manipulated information.  “They’re targeted and ruthless, killing the staff who could negate the lockdown protocols to make sure none of those left behind survived.”

 

“Which means they had inside help.”  Erik Lehnsherr filled the doorway; even in a suit and tie, he looked every bit the powerful mutant he was. “They knew exactly how to get inside, which children to take and which adult to kill, and they were gone before we were even aware of the incursion.”  

 

“Erik,” Phil said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”  

 

“He’s my grandson, and I’ll brook no harm to come to him by the likes of cowards like this,” Erik replied.

 

The revelation was enough to make Tony stop talking and turn.

 

“I, for one, want to know how they learned Billy is my son.”  Wanda Maximoff, long brown hair pulled back neatly, walked past the two men.  “Not even the principal knew.”

 

“Billy? The teaching assistant?” Sue turned. “I thought it was only the younger children.”

 

“Teddy Altman too,” Clint told her. “They’re dating, did you know? Billy and Teddy.”

 

“Who told them who to take?” Erik’s question cut through the room. “And who let them inside the secure facilities?”

 

“It’s a long list of possibilities,” Phil said. “They’re not just at the school, but everywhere. S.H.I.E.L.D.  Stark Industries. A.I.M. The government.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Jarvis, display files Coulson F12221973 through J562018.”

 

Silence reigned as they watched the data stream, Jarvis pulling out main points and highlighting others.  Photos, dates, maps scrolled by, reams of data that covered decades.

 

“Wait.” Tony grabbed a file and tossed it to a separate screen. “This is from the attack in the park.”

 

“I recognize that name.” Steve grabbed another. “Those guys in Bolivia, the ones working with the cartel, mixed up in human trafficking.”

 

“I know this man.” Erik tapped a picture. “He’s a psychopath, kills for money.”  

 

“She’s a specialist in Crispr gene manipulation,” Bruce spoke up about one woman. “Went to grad school with her; she was kicked out for ethical violations with human testing.”

 

“These.” Natasha spun four files towards Tony. “Terrorist cells that grew out of Red Room locations.”

 

“What the hell, Coulson?” Tony growled. “Where did all this come from? You’ve had this and didn’t tell us?”

 

A clamor of voices; Clint stepped forward and held up a hand, waiting for the chaos to subside.

 

“Six days ago, Tony, we received this information in the form you see it, a jumbled mess with no connective tissue,” he said. “We’re sharing it now in hopes it helps find the kids.”

 

“If there was even a hint of danger to my son, you should have told me!” Tony flew across the distance and shoved Clint back, his hands hitting Clint’s chest with a solid thump. “We could have been prepared, I could have stopped it if you’d …”

 

Steve wrapped his hands around Tony’s arms and dragged him back. “Tony, stop. There’s no way they could have known …”

 

“No. This is on your head, Barton. Keeping secrets from me? If they so much as scratch Marty, I’ll …”  

 

Natasha planted herself in front of Tony.  “Phil’s father’s funeral was nine days ago, Tony, give them a break. Besides it’s not like you’ve ever been distracted or kept secrets from us.”

 

Tony sputtered for another moment then sagged against Steve’s broad chest. “He’s my son. They have my son and I didn’t stop them.”  

 

“Jarvis, compile a list of locations from the files, H.Y.D.R.A., War Dogs, Trask Industries, A.I.M, anything associated with anti-mutant activities. Look for ones currently in use, specifically in the last few days with in-and-out traffic,“ Phil said. “Correlate with planes, helicopters, other air transit from cities where kids were taken. Limit the scope to the two hour window around the incidents.”

 

“Working on it,” Jarvis replied.

 

“You think there’s some grand conspiracy?” Steve asked. “These groups do not play well with others.”

 

“Agreed.” Clint paced around the table. “But maybe they don’t know. Maybe Trask believes he came up with the idea for the sentinels …”

 

“Trask.” Ice froze on Lensherr words. “I’ve warned Charles about him; too many mutants have disappeared and the trail leads to Trask’s company. This idea to create robots that will protect … I’ve heard that same rhetoric before.”

 

“I don’t like him.”  Tony jumped back into action, scrolling files and picking out bits of data. He enlarged a schematic for a sentinel, ignoring the FOR DOD EYES ONLY stamp in the corner. “This isn’t security, it’s a Goddamn weapon. There’s no other explanation for variety of protocols aimed right at specific abilities.  Even got a super-soldier failsafe, Cap, just for you.”

 

“Oh my God.”  Bruce caught a line of code and froze it in mid-air. “I’ve seen this before. Tony, this is bad …”

 

“If I may?” Jarvis interrupted.  A map appeared and zoomed in on a location in Canada, west of Ottawa, near the Algonquin National Forest. Satellite imagery overlaid the topographical lines; a compound came into focus, multiple buildings surrounded by a fence. “I’ve tracked a plane leaving a private airstrip into New Jersey to this location; the plane is owned by Rhicon Fauste, a known anti-mutant agitator.”

 

As they watched, heat signatures bloomed, people emerging from a long, low building and crossing an open space.

 

“Traffic cams?”  Tony asked as his armor formed around him.

 

Three windows opened; within seconds, Jarvis highlighted a white van and tracked it between the school and the airport.

 

“Wait.” Clint stepped in front of Tony. “We do this, we do it right.  Phil and his team stay here and work through the data; the more we know about these guys, the better an attack plan. We take the jet … Steve, Natasha, you, and me …”

 

“And me,” Sue said. “We need reconnaissance before we go in.”

 

Erik and Wanda exchanged a glance before she spoke. “I’ll make sure they tell us what we need to know.”  

 

“You go, understand, I’m in charge.”  Clint brooked no arguments; even Tony blinked at the fire in his eyes. “Odds are, they’ll take the kids to different locations, so this is just the first step because, make no mistakes, we’re going to find every last one of them, regardless of who the parents are.”

Tony stared at Clint then nodded.  “Let’s go then.”

* * *

 

The pain dragged him from unconsciousness, a sharp stab in his knee and a deeper ache in his shoulder that throbbed in time with his heartbeat.  He had to try twice to open his eye lids, caked blood dried on his lashes; the sharp jerk of the moving vehicle sent needles driving into the abrasions all over his skin. Memories, jumbled in his mind, slowly dropped into place and formed a coherent picture.

 

… Tony, caught by a blue energy beam, tumbling out of the sky …

 

… Steve, running full out, a child sheltered in his arms, bullets tearing at his suit …

 

… Wanda Maximoff, hands raised, blood red magic pouring from her fingertips …

 

… unconscious kids wrapped in blankets, locked in a metal cage …

 

… Natasha, widow’s bites all drained, a long red cut on her cheek …

 

… blossoming white explosion, concussive force knocking him over, blowing out walls …

 

He grunted as the Jeep swerved around a particularly sharp curve, slamming him against the metal wheel well. Breath knocked out of his chest, he could only hear the pounding of blood in his veins, earbuds nothing but muted static.

 

… Phil’s voice shouting his name, calling a warning …

 

First things first.  He grabbed his elbow and popped his dislocated shoulder back into its socket with a sickening wrench of inflamed tendons.

 

“Fuck.”

 

The world echoed inside his head; he gritted his teeth, shook his head to clear his blurry vision. Second on the agenda was to see where he was and what was happening.  He started to raise up, but Natasha’s hand pushed him down.

 

“Cover *** ****.”

 

In the passenger seat, twisted to face behind them, Walther pistol in each hand, Natasha’s hair whipped around her face as she watched the road behind them.  She fired and whoever was pursuing them returned it with a strafe of bullets; he tried to see more but a sharp spasm in his back stopped him.

 

“Fucking ...”  

 

A little hand covered his mouth, and he bit off the rest of the phrase. Bella’s blue eyes stared at him, tear streaks across her freckled cheeks; she’d bitten her lip at some point, little dots of red on her chin.  

 

*Papa?* She signed; Clint realized she was holding a smaller child, cradling a sleeping Martin Stark to her chest.

 

*Good* Clint signed back. *All good.*

 

He wasn’t but she probably already knew that; he was covered in scrapes and cuts, his leg numb and unresponsive. Still, she gave him a tremulous smile and scooted closer. Behind her, Josh and Richard Fisk lay, wrapped in army surplus blankets, watched over by the bruised and blackening eyes of Billy Kaplan.  The older boy nodded at Clint’s unspoken question, a quiet okay their conditions. Another flurry of gunfire was exchanged; ignoring the flash of agony, Clint pulled Bella and Martin tilted his body over them. Wrapping his arm around Billy, he made as tight a shelter as he could.

The Jeep hit a pothole, and they all bounced up and back down;  Bella cried out then bit back a sob.

 

“It’s okay, Bella Boo,” Clint murmured near her ear. “Aunt Nat’s protecting us.”

 

“****’re bad ***.”  She ducked her head into the curve of Clint’s neck. “**** hurt Mrs. ******.”

 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Clint promised. “Daddy’s going to find us. Uncle Steve is here. Uncle Tony …”

 

“**’* …”  She started to cry. “I saw ***.”

 

“Shhhh.”  Clint managed to get his hand on her back and stroked her curls.  “You know Jarvis will take care of him.”

 

God, he hoped Tony was okay. He couldn’t remember exactly what happened after they’d realized it was a trap; within minutes of landing, they’d been attacked by a coordinated force of black suited militia armed with advanced weapons. Prepared with counter measures for Sue’s invisibility and Tony’s armor, the thugs shut down Wanda’s powers with a dampening field and even kept Steve constrained from the get go.  

 

A tap on his hip got his attention; Natasha signed, *Hold on, going off-road* and then they jerked to the left and began rattling over uneven ground. Bella buried herself deeper in Clint’s arms, and he prayed that the others didn’t wake until the pummelling stopped. Poor Billy was half-on and half-off the other wheel well, elbow slamming into a tool box. And with each bounce, Clint’s knee and back and shoulder thrummed with pain.

 

After what seemed like an eternity but was less than twenty minutes according to his internal clock, the car slowed and then evened out. He’d lost count of how many times he’d almost blacked out, staying awake from pure spite; now, as Natasha smoothed a hand over Bella’s hair, Clint didn’t hide his grimace as he checked on Martin and Josh.  

 

*Stay still* she signed. *You look like shit*

 

“Papa ****,” Bella told her. “** said a *** ****.”

 

*I did*  Clint used his hands; he didn’t trust his voice not to betray how bad off he was. *I’ll put money in the jar …*

 

For the first time, he saw the driver; dark hair, black leather vest, black mask, a silver arm … he reached for his quiver and cried out as his body wracked with pain.

 

“Nat. Don’t …” He couldn’t breathe, his lungs constricted and his throat closed. “Winter …”

 

*Okay* Nat tapped the Morse code on his forearm. *Okay. Breathe. Stop moving*

 

“Papa!”  

 

Bella’s concern cut through the agony and Clint stilled then blinked the tears from his eyes.

 

*Why is the Winter Soldier here?* he asked.

 

*Fisk* was Natasha’s four-letter answer.

 

Of course, Fisk would hire the best to rescue his son, and Clint couldn’t find any reason to blame him. Sending one of the most ruthless assassins was exactly what Kingpin would do. The fact that said assassin had seemingly rescued all of them made even more sense given that Richard and Bella were best friends; the enemy of my enemy, after all.

 

“We’re ****** at *** ****up ****,” the man in question said.  “**’** **** twelve ******* on ground.”

 

*Ex fil ahead. Can you move?*  Concern filled Natasha’s eyes. *Tight window to get onboard*

 

“I’ll get there,” Clint promised. “Kids are first.”

 

Another set of quick turns, and they squealed to a halt next to a small dirt runway where a private jet waited.  Natasha scooped up Bella and Martin; Billy was out of the car, Josh cradled in his arms before the Winter Soldier gathered up Richard over his shoulder.  

 

“I’m right behind you,” Clint told them, knowing full well he wasn’t going anywhere under his own power. His knee was twice its normal size, and he couldn’t feel his foot.

 

*Papa?* Bella signed with one hand.

 

*Love you, beautiful girl,* he signed back.

 

He managed to sit upright and wished he had a working earpiece to say goodbye to Phil.  In the distance, he could hear the motors approaching.

 

“Give me a gun.” He held out his hand to the Soldier. “I’ll hold them off until you’re gone.”

 

Impossibly blue eyes stared at him and, for a heartbeat, Clint thought the man didn’t understand.  

 

*You’re a package deal.*

 

Clint barely had time to process that the Winter Soldier knew sign language before he was hoisted up and tossed over the man’s metal shoulder. Black crept in at the edges of his vision with each agonizing footfall.  

 

“Take off.”  The Soldier commanded the pilot as he tossed Clint in a seat.

 

*Idiot* Natasha reached over and buckled him in. *Self-sacrificing idiot*

 

*I’m not …* Clint felt the acceleration then they were airborne, banking hard right and rising.

 

“*** down, James, ***** you **** down.”  Natasha took the seat next to Clint, Martin in the crook of her arm.  

 

James. Clint shrugged off the mental fog that was gathering. “Your James? He’s that James?”

 

*Take these.*  She passed him two painkillers from her kit. *You’re a mess.*

 

He dry swallowed as they leveled off then dropped his head back.

 

“PAPA!” Josh’s shout jerked him back up. “PAPA!”

 

He couldn’t turn; his back seized and he groaned.

 

“I can ****. *** me ****,” Billy was saying but Clint couldn’t make heads-or-tails of the fragmented words.

 

*He’s going to help,* Natasha signed.

 

Red glowed around Billy’s hands; he lightly touched Clint’s shoulder and the pain receded.  

 

“PAPA!” Josh strained in his seat, eyes wide and tears spilling over.  

 

Billy’s magic encircled the boy and lifted him, settling him on Clint’s lap.  

 

“Hey, hey, I’m here, baby, I’m here. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”  He rocked his son back and forth until the crying became little hiccups. The hell with it, he thought; his body was already fucked up, so what did a little more damage matter?  “Bella, baby, come on over here.”

 

With a kid on each knee, Clint buried his nose in Bella’s hair and pulled Josh in tight.  He closed his eyes, began to hum a quiet lullaby.

* * *

 

When he woke, he knew it wasn’t good.  His body was in traction, right arm in a full cast from shoulder to fingertips and left leg sprouting pins, hanging with a pulley and counterweight. The drowsy after effects of anesthesia were all too familiar as was the smooth plastic of a hospital remote in his palm.  A comfortingly familiar set of sounds filtered through new earbuds, and the treescape outside the floor-to-ceiling windows meant he was at the upstate New York compound. He remembered Phil by his side, Dr. Cho talking about some experimental procedure … always experimental, for some reason … and Natasha telling him to sleep.

 

“Ph …” Clint coughed and tried again. “Phil?”

 

“Talia made him get some sleep; the little ones were restless without him nearby.”

 

The Winter Soldier unfolded himself from the chair in the corner. In a simple grey henley, a dark pair of jeans, and a messy man bun, he looked like one of those hipster guys at a coffee shop. Well, all except for the silver hand that glinted in the low light.

 

“James, right?” Clint tried to turn his head but the stitches in his shoulder pulled.  

 

“Been called a lot of things.”  James came to a stop by the edge of the bed. “You can use that if you want.”

 

So many questions; Clint wasn’t sure where to start. “Martin get home okay?”

 

“You and Fisk surprised me.  He was adamant I rescue your kids as well.” With a shrug, James rested his hands on the bed rail. “Going to make getting all parties to work together a little easier.”

 

“Yeah, we need to …”  Another round of coughing, and he was left gasping.  

 

“Here.” James lifted a glass of ice chips and poured a few in Clint’s mouth.  “Had an endotracheal tube down your throat; always makes it dry and rough.”

 

Cool water melted and eased the burning; instead of speaking, Clint raised his good hand and spelled out the words. *How did you find us so fast?*

 

“I’ve been chasing these guys for over a year, going base by base to figure out what they’re up to. Fisk’s call came as I was closing in on the Algonquin compound,” James said. “You did exactly what they wanted, rushing into their trap.”

 

*They had my kids.* That was the only reason Clint needed to justify his actions.

 

“Threaten children, another turn of the screw.”  He blew a lock of hair out of his face. “Look, they’ve been preparing for this, getting ready to take you all on. Smashing down the front door was a bad plan.”

 

*Trask designs. A.I.M. science. Watchdog rabid believers. I know,* Clint said. *You’re H.Y.D.R.A. Don’t trust you.*

 

“Don’t trust anyone; they’re everywhere.”  He sighed. “But I’m not H.Y.D.R.A.; haven’t done a job for them in decades.”

 

Clint raised an eyebrow and glared at him.

 

“Yeah, after the Soviet Union fell, I was pretty messed up and worked for whoever would pay me, but I’m not that guy any more. In fact, took on a new position a while back, so I’m out of the freelance market.”

 

It took Clint far too long to put the pieces together; he blamed the head trauma and codeine. Of course, it was the Winter Soldier, a ghost story with a dark past and wrongs to be righted.

 

*You’re the new Nick Fury.*

James grinned and Clint realized just how handsome he was … and a niggling part of his brain said he knew him from somewhere else.

 

“Ironic, isn’t it? Meeting you and Coulson was on my to-do list then you threw yourself right in my path,” he said. “Always suspected the General was a right royal bastard then I found out about how he treated his son. Phil would have made a great Fury, although, to be selfish, I’m kinda glad he didn’t follow the Wolf’s footsteps. It’s giving me a chance make amends, at least as much as I can. Besides, I knew the original Nick, met him a couple times during the war; he was a decent guy trying to do what he thought was right.”

 

*Knew him?*  That couldn’t be right; James was younger than Clint by a good ten years, maybe fifteen. *Time travel? Alternate universe?*

 

“Nah, I just …”

 

“Bucky?”  Steve’s voice interrupted; James’ head whipped up, and he gave a sheepish smile.

 

“Hey, Stevie. It’s me.”

 

Instantly forgotten, Clint had a front row seat to the reunion of best friends, separated in a way only super serum, time travel, cryogenics, and mind control could contrive.  There were manly tears, hugs, and hearty slaps on the back followed by lots and lots of questions. That’s why James was so familiar; Phil was obsessed with the Howling Commandos.

 

He wondered if Nat knew that James was Bucky and Bucky was the Winter Soldier; he was pretty sure she had no clue he was Nick Fury too.

* * *

 

“... still unaccounted for, but, with Sargent Barnes’ intel, we’re closing in on more locations that may yield valuable information.”

 

Phil was in front of the room, in his element as he completed the daily briefing.  A week after the initial incident, Operation HaLFtime was in full swing; with James’ help, they’d been able to rescue the remaining kidnapped children and were systematically culling through all the data.  The emerging pattern was disturbing; tendrils spread wider than Clint had ever imagined, infiltrating businesses, academia, and churches. Fear of those who were different ran deep and silent; the Human Liberation Front had played upon doubts and anxieties, turning valid concerns into bigotry and loathing.  All this time as they’d been saving the world, hate had been festering, expanding from small pockets to something much larger.

 

“Thanks to Teddy Altman’s foresight to take the CPUs of the Fargo base, Tony was able to track down some of their IPs and he’s tagging a number of chat boards and reddit threads they frequent.”  Phil paused; he’d argued that Tony needed more rest time after his injuries, but Tony hadn’t let concussion or bandages slow him down. “I think we should consider both Teddy and Billy as potential Avengers recruits; they more than proved their mettle.”

 

“Agreed,” Steve said. “And Wanda too. She saved our asses in Canada;  I know she’s got history, but so do most of us. We have to stop this us and them mentality.  Mutant, magic, human … doesn’t matter. We’re all targets.”

 

“Billy’s got a twin brother, if I remember right.”  Clint pressed the talk button; being confined to a hospital bed was getting old, but at least Jarvis could remote broadcast so he was part of the discussion.  “Wonder if he has any powers?”

 

“Papa?”

 

Clint muted the sound when he saw his son standing in the doorway, stuffed otter in one hand and favorite blanket in the other.

 

“What are you doing up, Cuddle Bug?”  he asked even though he already knew the answer.  The last few nights had been broken by nightmares, usually followed by tears.  “Come on up here.”

 

They’d put a three step stool by the bed on Clint’s good side; Josh clambered up and buried his face against Clint’s chest.

 

“Bad dream?”

 

The little head nodded. “That man hurt Miss Jemson,” he whispered. “I couldn’t fix her.”

 

A knot of anger tightened in Clint’s gut; damn it, he was supposed to protect his kids from shit like this.  

 

“I know, baby.  Nobody could fix her, not even Dr. Cho.”  He stroked the tight curls of dark hair and banked his own guilt, waiting patiently for Josh to continue.  

 

“He said I was bad.”  Josh hiccupped. “Said it was my fault.”

 

Every damn one of them.  He was going to hunt them down, each and every one, and kick their asses. Nobody hurt his babies. Nobody.

 

“You remember a few weeks ago when the garbage can got knocked over in the kitchen and you said Dodger did it?”  

 

Josh went still then gave a tiny nod.

 

“When we do something we know is wrong, like climbing on the cabinet to get to the cookie jar, we often blame others.”  He patted Josh’s back. “Adults are the worst; we make up all sort of reasons why things aren’t our fault.”

 

“He was bad.”  Josh turned his eyes towards Clint. “So he lied.”

 

“That’s exactly right. It’s his fault, his and the others with him,” Clint assured him.

 

For a little while, Josh lay quietly, watching Phil on the video screen, unable to hear what was being said, but satisfied to have an eye on both his parents. Just when Clint was beginning to hope he’d fallen asleep, he spoke again.

 

“Miss Jemson was good.”

 

“She was.”  God, how did he explain death, especially one so violent and unexpected. “And she did nothing wrong.  Sometimes …” He thought of his mother, an innocent passenger with a drunk behind the wheel. “People die, baby.  I wish I could tell you differently, but that’s the truth.”

 

“But you save them. You and Uncle Steve and Uncle Tony and Aunt Nat and Daddy. You fight the bad guys.

 

“We do.”  He glanced at the colorful casts over so much of his body. “Sometimes we win, and sometimes we don’t.  And we when get too old to do it, others will step up.”

 

“Like Kate.”  A wide yawn and Josh’s eyelids sank closed. “Billy and Teddy.”

 

Thing about waiting … you have to know what you’re waiting for or you’ll be sitting on the sidelines forever.  Clint knew there was a time for patience and a time for action, when to watch and when to take the shot. Too many let moments of happiness pass, believing there was something better coming down the pike; Clint had almost missed a life with Phil because of self-doubt.  He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

 

No, his career as a superhero was probably over no matter what platitudes the doctor’s might give him, and just at the moment when a new enemy was rising to stand against him and his family.  The axis of good and evil was shifting, Wilson Fisk’s behavior more dependable than S.H.I.E.L.D., and The Winter Soldier was an unexpected ally. His children were mutants, and mutants were joining the team. Change was here; he could keep waiting and ignore the new reality or accept it and take the joy that being a retired dad offered.

 

Clint smiled at the projected image of his husband, the badass Phil Coulson doing what he did best, planning, organizing, and being all around competent.  He didn’t need to hear to know the minds gathered in that room would solve the problem and do what needed to be done. Instead, he focused on the rise and fall of Josh’s breathing, the steady calm of holding his sleeping son, and let worry fall away.  

 

The rest could wait.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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